Marge Piercy

The cup of Eliyahu - Poem by Marge Piercy

In life you had a temper.Your sarcasm was a whetted knife.Sometimes you shuddered with fearbut you made yourself act no matterhow few stood with you.Open the door for Eliyahuthat he may come in.Now you return to usin rough times, out of smokeand dust that swirls blinding us.You come in vision, you comein lightning on blackness.Open the door for Eliyahuthat he may come in.In every generation you returnspeaking what few want to hearwords that burn us, that cutus loose so we rise and go againover the sharp rocks upward.Open the door for Eliyahuthat he may come in.You come as a wild man,as a homeless sidewalk orator,you come as a woman taking the bima,you come in prayer and song,you come in a fierce rant.Open the door for Eliyahuthat she may come in.Prophecy is not a gift, butsometimes a curse, Jonahrefusing. It is dangerousto be right, to be righteous.To stand against the wall of might.Open the door for Eliyahuthat he may come in.There are moments for eachof us when you summon, whenyou call the whirlwind, when youshake us like a rattle: then wetoo must become you and rise.Open the door for Eliyahuthat we may come in.